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Bruce desperately missed the days where no one knew what The Batman really was. They were much more quiet, scared, and complacent.
Now, everyone and everything was setting Bruce on edge.
He had never hated the inside of his batsuit more than right now. The tightness and the scratching of the hems was burning against his skin. The bridge of his nose was so goddamn itchy that Bruce was willing to expose his identify to just take his cowl off and finally get rid of the irritation.
The crime scene had been covered in cops and their endless chatter, stupid little useless pieces of equipment that were stabbing Bruce’s ears with the beeping, and the bright forensic lights made Bruce wish he had installed sunglasses or goggles with the cowl, no matter how stupid it looked.
It’s all been bombarding Bruce since he had arrived at the scene. It would drive any sane man mad.
But Jim needed him. He needed Batman. The city needed Batman.
Bruce breathed deeply and swallowed down the urge to shout or shake out his frustration. He glanced to the side of the dim room where Jim was surrounded and talking to a group of cops.
To Bruce, they all looked the same. Mindless and brutal. Too stupid to pick up the obvious signs that this was nothing more than your average theft and not some mystery plot from a supervillain.
The Batman shouldn’t have been called. Bruce would have saved himself a world of hurt.
After he tore his eyes away from Jim, Bruce tried to walk over to the window across the room but the way his steps hit the wooden floor made him want to rip his boots off and put on so many socks that he forgot what his feet really looked like.
Everything was so loud and so bright Bruce couldn’t see properly. He was beginning to question if his expert opinion was really worth it.
The frustration and irritation kept him rooted to the floor, his breaths coming in short and deep. Bruce didn’t know how to calm himself and get rid of his irritation and frustration without making a scene. He just wanted it to be silent, pitch black, nothing.
Bruce didn’t realise he had been standing stationary in the middle of the room until Jim came up beside him with his hand hovering like he wanted to pat Bruce’s shoulder. Bruce stared at the wrinkles on Jim’s forehead as he asked, “Batman? Batman? Are you alright?”
The chattering stopped immediately at the sound of Jim’s voice. Bruce desperately wanted it to stay that way, even if everyone was staring at him like he was a bomb about to go off. Maybe he was.
Frustratingly, the moment Bruce had breathed, the chatter picked up again and droned on and on.
With a grimace on his face, Bruce nodded slowly, silently. Jim’s voice was so sharp it felt like it was cutting through his head like a icepick.
Jim stared at Bruce and the irritation in Bruce’s stomach bubbled. Stop. Was all Bruce could think as he stared at the wall, avoiding Jim’s gaze until the man gave up.
Bruce nearly flinched when Jim spun on his heel and practically raced over to the group of cops who were still talking.
Bruce heard as they all protested at Jim’s order for them to leave.
How did he know what Bruce wanted?
Bruce glanced at Jim and watched as he herded the cops out of the room and into the hallway, their irritating voices disappearing as they went. Jim returned and softly shut the door behind himself. The room was plunged into a dim darkness as Jim pulled out the many plugs at the deteriorating powerpoint.
The beeping stopped, the light vanished, the talking ceased.
For the first time that night, Bruce could feel like he could finally breathe.
Jim walked back over to Bruce, slow and precise with his steps, the only visible light coming from the street lamps outside. “Good?” Jim practically whispered and Bruce was thankful for the softness in his voice. “Don’t worry. They we’re getting on my nerves too.”
Bruce nodded and stared at Jim’s nose for a moment longer, his mind was racing. Was he that obvious?
To Bruce’s surprise, Jim turned away from him and sat in a half-broken chair in the corner of the dim room. He wasn’t watching Bruce like many others would when he was working, almost like Bruce was more of a phantom instead of a man. Jim scanned the ceiling instead, bored.
Bruce was more than grateful for the space that was between them. The less Bruce needed to say, the better for the both of them.
Bruce was reaching his limit but there was still a job that needed to be done. Jim’s actions, whatever the motivation, allowed Bruce to finally collect evidence for the first time that night and actually understand what he was thinking.
The tightness of the suit was no longer constricting, his nose was no longer begging to be ripped off his face, and his ears were calming at the soft sound of his own heartbeat. Taking another deep breath, Bruce continued on his way towards the window. His steps were no longer heavy and frustrating, but soft, familiar.
He almost felt stupid for how frustrated and upset he had become just a few minutes ago. It was such a simple solution to a seemingly endless situation.
Bruce stopped and ran his gloved hands along the windowsill, back and forth. He didn’t hold back the hum that escaped his lips.
It was a forced entry, nothing special, nothing secret. The way the latch was snapped was a dead giveaway and the fire escape outside was a easy way in and out of the apartment.
Continuing to hum a soft mindless tune, Bruce felt as he finally began to relax. His eyes and ears were no longer stinging with static and he could piece information together.
The wood beneath his feet was scattered with glass and debris. The criminal was searching for something. Money, jewels, goods. Anything.
But nothing specific.
Again, Bruce nearly punched a wall at how simple it all was. Might as well call him the worlds greatest detective. He certainly would be by Gotham’s standards. The cops would have arrested the first homeless person they saw on the streets if it wasn’t for The Batman and his ability to think with common sense.
Before Bruce could get lost in his thoughts he raised his head to see Jim fiddling with the rim of his glasses. He stared at Bruce and it made Bruce squirm.
Jim spoke softly. “Anything?” Jim’s a smart man, and Bruce knows he’s asking out of necessity and not out of curiosity.
Bruce shook his head and prayed that Jim could see it through the darkness. He really didn’t feel like talking.
“Nothing?” Jim looked around the room, eyes narrowing to see the dark corners. “Just the usual.”
A slow nod. Bruce could feel the pull of exhaustion and overstimulation at his bones. It made him feel like he was about to pass out if he closed his eyes for too long or he was ready to run a marathon.
Bruce watched as Jim pushed himself out of the crumbling chair slowly paced around the dim room, deliberately leaving space between himself and Bruce. It took Bruce weeks to realise that Jim wasn’t scared of him, he just respected him. Jim quickly became bearable and one of the only people Bruce could stand to be in a room with.
Jim’s patience, understanding, and seemingly super-human ability to sense when something was wrong warmed something inside Bruce.
If there was one man to trust in the complicated and corrupt city of Gotham, it was Jim.
Jim sighed and Bruce watched as Jim walked back over to the front door, he opened it slowly and looked back at Bruce as light bled into the room. Bruce winced at the brightness.
With an apologetic grimace, Jim closed the door slightly. “You can leave through the window,” He said, nodding at Bruce. “If you want.”
Bruce almost didn’t believe the words that came out of the commissioner’s mouth. But the way Jim shrugged at Bruce confirmed the statement.
Quickly spinning on his heel, Bruce practically raced to the window. His footsteps were so loud and he fought back the urge to slow down but the need to get out was much greater. Bruce clambered onto the windowsill and practically threw himself out onto the fire escape.
The bang of his boots hitting the metal platform pierced Bruce’s ears sharply and he glanced back through the window and froze when he saw Jim watching him. The small smile on Jim’s face almost made the uncomfortableness worth it.
Almost.
Bruce shook his head and closed his eyes tightly until stars and shapes appeared.
Whether he was Bruce Wayne or The Batman he was always, always treated like a freak. Bruce got it. A mystery man dressing up as a bat was abnormal, even for Gotham. Bruce was a man who could not stand in a room that is too bright, too loud,too much, also strange. Bruce gets that as well.
Jim gets that too.
Jim doesn’t treat Bruce like a freak. He respects Bruce. Bruce respects him. Bruce realised that even though the man had the power to send him into a spiral in less than a second, he can work with Jim.
Because even though Jim doesn’t know who The Batman was, he still helped. Bruce didn’t even need to ask.
Bruce took a deep breath and silently prayed that the streets would be empty on his way back to the manor. He didn’t think he could take one more godforsaken sound until he woke up tomorrow morning with 12 hours of sleep fogging his mind.